“Shhh. We’ll deal with it later. First we’re going to see a doctor.”
“I don’t want to see a doctor.” The air from the heater didn't seem to penetrate the icy prison encasing me.
“Shhh,” Jack whispered again, and his hand came over and slowly folded over mine. “Just hold onto me. Everything is going to be okay.”
I seized his hand tightly, grateful for it, and wishing like hell my mind would stop spinning. I kept seeing Oakes’ eyes.
His dead, soulless eyes.
I knew those eyes. I just didn’t want to see them anymore. I fought to keep my eyes open. As long as mine remained open, I wouldn’t see his.
“I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not.” Jack squeezed my hand. “It’s just the memories. Shake them off. You’re in shock. Stay with me, okay?” He repeated the litany, over and over with a calmness I couldn’t imagine in the same circumstances. This is what made him Jack. He was solid in a crisis.
“I don’t want to die,” I whispered again as the world swam out of view and darkness rose to take its place. I started to cry as I saw those eyes in the darkness. “I don’t want to die.”
~ * ~
“Jack, what the hell happened last night?” Billy’s voice sounded like it came from very far away. There was a pleasant floating sensation accompanying the awareness of Billy’s presence. Almost like floating on a lazy cloud as it drifted through a warm summer sky. I liked that image and wrapped myself around the idea of it.
“I’m not entirely sure I understand. She went into shock, which is why I brought her straight here. The doctors said her blood pressure began to bottom out and her heart rate accelerated, as if she were a trauma victim.” Puzzlement mingled with worry in Jack’s voice. “Only there’s no trauma.”
“Where were you?”
“Georgetown.”
“Christ.”
I should probably tell them I heard them, but my eyelids weren’t cooperating and the pleasant sensation made the lethargy of the warm sun that much more intoxicating. I could just lay here and feel pleasant and warm, and even with the note of worry in Jack’s voice, I felt safe.
Jack was very good at making me feel safe. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t quite tell if it was working or not. I heard the sound of someone pacing, footsteps going back and forth across the tile floor.
“Why was she out there?”
“I don’t know. I think she wanted to face her past, maybe get a better line on Oakes.”
“And did she?”
“Did she what?”
“Did she get a better line on Oakes?”
“Jesus, Billy. She came in here in shock and traumatized. She was mumbling a lot of nonsense on the way here.” Jack sighed. “And frankly, I don’t know what to believe.”
“Look, Jack. I know you don’t get this little gift of hers very well, but I’ve seen a lot stranger things in my time. She’s got a good talent for this type of thing, and I highly doubt she’s making any of it up.”
“It’s not that. It’s just she sounded so delusional tonight. Nance and I used to worry about that when she was younger, especially after the attack and she threw herself into working with her grandmother all the time. Don’t get me wrong. I loved that old lady, but she had some peculiar ideas.”
“You’re a little too personally involved in this, Jack.”
The light airy feeling supporting me seemed to deflate as I came to the same realization Billy had. Jack didn’t believe me. But he’d said…
“Billy, that stuff is insane. It’s a post-traumatic stress reaction to her attack. She’s never been the same since that happened. And she’s just gotten worse. I just never thought she was a danger to herself before.”
Oh, Jack. You don’t believe me. How could you think I was making it all up? How could you not understand? I thought you of all people, after all these years, would at least believe me a little. I felt the disappointment, profound and bitter, deep down inside. It flushed away the floating distance that kept me drifting along on a cloud and brought me harshly back to earth.
With what felt like painful slowness, I opened my eyes and managed to turn my head enough so I could make out Jack and Billy where they stood. I was definitely in a hospital. The antiseptic smell and the hard, industrial lines of the room lent themselves to the astringent atmosphere of the facilities.
“Hey Chance.” Billy smiled, sounding genuinely pleased with just a notch of concern, as he noticed my eyes were open. I wasn’t watching his expression though. My eyes focused on Jack, whose face betrayed the conflicting feelings inside him. If I saw it in his eyes, I’d know it was true.
I knew the answer already, though.
“Hey,” I croaked out. My throat felt raspy and sore. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a minute. Opening my eyes, I found both men now hovering at the bedside. Jack’s hand slipped over mine protectively, and as my gaze sought out his, I was confused by the answer. There was no doubt in his eyes. How could he say those things and look at me like that?
“Hey babe, you gave us a bit of a scare.” As gentle as his voice was, I heard the very real fear in it.
“Silly of me,” I whispered apologetically.
“Yeah well, no worries. Just want to get you all better.” Jack smiled and squeezed my hand.
Oh, Jack. I’m so sorry.
Nineteen
Betty spooned some steaming mashed potatoes onto the plate, already overloaded with meat loaf and Brussels sprouts. The meal smelled delicious, taunting a stomach that suffered a hospital diet for several days.
Hot, fresh-from-the-oven biscuits, designed to tempt even the least hungry man into eating. I tried not to tap my fingernails against the mahogany tabletop, with its lace doilies and fine candelabra. Betty's go for broke meal should tempt me, and somewhere, below the well of self-pity and self-accusatory guilt swimming in my stomach, I wanted to want to eat.
Across the table, Jack didn't bother to disguise his eagerness for the food. He appeared absolutely relaxed and perhaps the most content he’d been since his arrival. A warm, home-cooked meal—with two women he probably considered family—was what he needed after a hellish week determined to test his moral values against his belief in the extraordinary.
Those few overheard words in the hospital stung like open wounds. They made me angry. Angry with Jack, angry at myself for putting on a dog and pony show for him, angry because it hurt so damn much that he still didn't believe—even after I thought he did.
The corners of my mouth turned upward in a forced smile when our gazes met. The tension around his eyes relaxed, but bitterness sat like a rock in my stomach at the relief in his beautiful blue eyes. He was more comfortable thinking I was a delusional lunatic who must be humored. It was easier for him.
Jerk.
“There we go. I think that’s everything.” Betty smiled triumphantly and placed a large jug of tea onto the table. “Are we all set?”
“Except for one thing,” I spoke out loud before I could stifle myself. “Jack isn’t staying.”
“What?” Jack frowned. “It’s no problem, Chance. I told you I’m…”
I held up a hand to cut off his protest and refused to look at Betty. I didn’t want to see any rebuke in her expression.
“Maybe I didn’t phrase that right, Jack. You’re not staying because you’re not welcome.”
Silence draped the dinner table like a shroud.
“Chance Elizabeth Monroe.” Betty’s tone sliced me as though a sword in battle.
I rose and faced her, my apology and contrition absolute. “I’m sorry, Betty. I truly am. This is a wonderful meal, and the very last thing I want to do is spoil it. But I cannot and will not sit down to eat with someone who thinks I am a poster child for post-traumatic stress disorder at best and a lunatic at worst.” My gaze cut away from Betty to see Jack’s expression. He flushed with anger, but the last statement brought him up short.
“Yes,” I answered before he
could ask. “I was awake in the hospital. I heard every word of that lovely little speech you delivered to Billy. But because you’re probably categorizing me as paranoid as well as a lunatic, I suggest you just go pack your bags and file it in your report. I will not be simply tolerated, like some circus freak, or treated like an escaped mental patient.”
Jack stood up, one hand extending to me. I refused to acknowledge the sorrow or remorse in his expression. I would not be suckered again.
Hands flat against the table, I leaned forward. Betty frowned, but her disapproval of my actions slowly soon met its match in her protectiveness. I didn't attempt to manipulate her in this situation, but she saw my grandmother treated badly, and I suspected she wouldn’t tolerate similar treatment of me.
“I’m sorry I don’t measure up to the standards of your scientific world, Jack. But I’m not a freak. I’m not insane. And I’m not putting up with you patting me on the head like I’m some fragile little flower shattered by a serial killer eight years ago. I’m a hedge witch. It’s what I am.” My voice filled with power and it crackled in the air around me. I didn’t bother to rein it in. Jack took an involuntary step away from the table. “You will leave this house. You will take your things and you will go. You were my friend and I trusted you, but after what you said, I don’t think you ever trusted me.”
He took another two steps, retreating from the dining room and headed for the guestroom where he had been staying.
“Chance, stop.” Betty intervened, stepping into my line of sight and breaking the contact. “Sit down. I’ll talk to Jack.”
I looked away, taking deep breaths and trying to steady my heart. The guest room wasn’t far enough. I took a step after him to send him packing from the house. “No, sit down. You’ve had a bad few days and you’re right. If he doesn’t believe you, then he doesn’t belong here.”
A small smile twisted my lips at the support.
“But I want you to eat.” She continued her chastising. “So eat.” Betty turned from me then and focused on Jack who stood gazing at me with wounded eyes, waiting for me to change my mind, call him back, something. I thought he kept walking away, but apparently not. “As for you, young man, come with me.” No one argued with Betty when she spoke that way—not even Mr. big-shot-FBI-investigator, Jack Harker.
I rubbed a hand over my face and blinked back a hot flood of tears. Oh, damn, Gran. I wish you were here. I wish you were here so you could tell me if I’m just being a prideful idiot or if this really is the right thing to do.
I stared at the rich food spread out on the plate in front of me and forced myself to pick up a fork. I just managed to spear a brussel sprout when Betty re-entered the room. She walked over and stiffly took her seat.
Well, that isn’t a good sign. All the instincts you develop as a child indicating when a parent is about to ream you out never really go away. They might dull with age or lack of fear, but they don’t go away. That little alarm bell rang in my head now as Betty poured herself a glass of iced tea and took her time spreading the cloth napkin over her lap.
“I’m disappointed.” Betty spoke quietly as she began to section her meat loaf with careful methodical cuts.
“I’m sorry, Betty. I know I should have said something earlier. Waiting until dinner was served was rude.” I could admit my contrition, but I held onto my anger at Jack for as long as possible, hoping he might come clean about his reservations or maybe even announce grandiosely he was wrong about what he said. I have no idea why I hoped that.
Okay, who do I think I’m kidding? Of course, I’m hoping that. It’s Jack, dammit! But hoping doesn’t make it happen.
“I’m not terribly pleased with you dear, but that’s not what I am disappointed in,” Betty replied quietly, and I looked up from my study of the Brussels sprout to see her kind face favoring me with a small smile. “I knew Isabel for more than fifty years, and I saw her take her fair share of spit in the eye and doleful expressions. I expected more from your young man. I think he’s aware of how much more now. But he’s packing his bags as instructed.”
“Betty, he’s not my young man.”
“Piffle. Either way, he’s packing. You have a right to your privacy and self-confidence. It’s no business of his to be passing judgments.” She scooped some mashed potatoes onto her fork and then gave my plate a gimlet eye. I hastily ate the Brussels sprout and speared another. I didn’t really taste them past the acrid burning in my stomach but seeing me eat something made her happy. She watched me for a moment before continuing her own meal.
“I just wish I knew why.”
“Because some people need proof, my dear.” Betty smiled sympathetically. “Your mother did, and no matter how often she saw your Gran work her magic, she couldn’t bring herself to believe in it. I often wondered if she resented that she never possessed the gift.”
I frowned at the last statement, but my questions halted as Jack reappeared in the doorway. There was an overnight bag in his hand and a laptop case slung over his shoulder. To her credit, Betty didn’t bother to pause in her meal while Jack and I stared at each other across what felt like an ocean of misunderstanding and hurt.
“The two men outside have been briefed as to the new situation, and their detail will remain. Try not to ditch them every time you leave. They will be moving around the house periodically during the evening, especially after you lock up, just to check on everything.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. His voice was so stilted and remote.
“I apologize for any inconvenience, ladies.” Jack’s voice managed to make the apology sound polite rather than forced. “I wish you both all the best. Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Betty responded to the last without missing a beat and returned her attention to her dinner. It was a cool dismissal, and I resisted the impulse to push back my chair and pursue him. For Jack’s part, he left the dining room without another word, and only the closing of the front door marked his departure.
Betty and I spent the next hour making small talk over the meal and, when we finished, I helped her clear away the dishes and what was left of the food.
“I’ll finish washing up,” I volunteered. Fatigue still plagued me from my stay in the hospital, but I could handle a few dishes.
“Pish.” Betty waved a hand at me. “Go on and take the tea I made you. Go find yourself a comfortable spot and take it easy. You need to finish resting.”
“Betty, I’ll be fine.” I admit I protested weakly, but it was a protest nonetheless. “You did all the cooking.”
She smiled at me and waved her hand in another shooing motion. “Off with you. I’m going to watch Touched by an Angel when I’m done with this bit. You go drink your tea.”
“Yes ma’am.” The token protest was necessary. We needed to play these games because Betty liked to look after me and I needed to feel like I wasn’t taking advantage of her. It worked out well enough for the pair of us. I acquiesced to her wishes and picked up the steaming mug of chamomile tea sweetened with just a few drops of honey before making my way out of the kitchen. I glanced at the front door and checked the locks automatically before climbing the stairs to my apartment.
Romeo darted ahead of me and waited for me to push the door open before launching himself into the room.
“Yeah, yeah, go warm up the bed,” I called after him as I closed the door with my hip. The room seemed terribly quiet and lacked the feeling of sanctuary it usually offered. A grimace twisted
my mouth as I thought about Jack.
Despite my statements earlier, I harbored misgivings about kicking him out that way. I took a sip of the tea to keep it from dripping as I crossed the room. I ignored the desk and the comfortable chairs, electing to go directly into the bedroom.
A long hot shower would do me good, but I didn’t feel like wrestling with the old pipes tonight. My muscles still ached from the memory of the attack, the memory that came to life so violently while I stood on the grounds
of the college campus. I’d been right to avoid the site before.
What’s done is done. My grandmother’s voice chastised me from the past. I set the teacup down beside the bed and sighed. She was right of course. This can of worms was already open. There was no sense in beating myself up about it now. I pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and looked at the manila envelope. Shaking my head, I shoved the drawer closed again.
Not tonight. No more investigation tonight. The bed beckoned, so I stripped and let the clothes fall before sliding in between the sheets. They felt cool but welcoming against the soreness of my body.
Romeo strolled over, flopped himself down and regarded me owlishly from a pair of unblinking green eyes.
“If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask.”
The cat ignored me.
Twenty
Tomorrow arrived faster than I expected, or wanted. Showered, dressed and coffee in hand, I forced myself to listen to the phone messages. I needed normal—real normal. Most were calls from clients, but not all.
Beep.
“Ms. Monroe, this is Victor Callanport. If you have a free few moments, please return this call.”
Beep.
“Chance, it’s Jack.” My smile evaporated to a faint scowl, and I took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry things worked out this way. Do you think we can talk? I know you’re angry, but I’m hoping you’ll hear me out. Call me.”
Beep.
“Chance, it’s Sydney. I think you better come see me or I’m coming to look for you. I’ve had a bad feeling for the last several days, and thoughts about you are right in the middle of it. Call me! And don’t ignore this message and roll your eyes. I’m serious!”
I reached for the phone and dialed Sydney’s number from memory before the machine chirped to tell me that was the last message. Sydney Jump was my best friend. We’d known each other since kindergarten, but bonded in the hell of high school. She was convinced we’d been sisters in a previous life, but I was just happy to have her in this one. Her grandmother and my grandmother knew each other from way back, and while our paths diverged during college, we kept in touch.
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